


don't blame it on the moonlight

by juliusschmidt



Series: harry, you little shit [13]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Angst, Biting, Bonding, Knotting, M/M, Marking, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Scent Marking, Semi-Public Sex, So much angst, and heartache, mentions of mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-02 01:44:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4040887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliusschmidt/pseuds/juliusschmidt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry invites Louis to help him through another heat. They're closer now than ever before and so it's different, better. And then much, much worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't blame it on the moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a series. Start [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/946132). 
> 
> Betcha thought I had disappeared? I haven't. And [Melanie](http://http://littlespoonharrry.tumblr.com), my brilliant beta, already has the next part, so I won't leave you hanging this time. I'm not totally finished writing the series, but I'm very close. 
> 
> The resolution to all this angst is complete and will be posted in a timely manner- so you're welcome to wait another week or so for that. Now, I'm just tying up some loose ends and working on a bit of tooth-rotting fluff to wrap up the plot arc. 
> 
> Thank you for all your encouragement and patience between postings. 
> 
> The title, of course, comes from [this amazing jam](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mkBS4zUjJZo).

Louis has Harry pressed to the wall of the toilet, and his head is turned just so. He sees the door swing open.

Their trousers and pants are tangled around their ankles, but Harry’s shirt is still plastered to his torso as Louis thrusts into him with increasingly erratic movements.

Harry’s already come twice today- Louis is both a big fanof morning sex and, also, very careful to tend to Harry’s needs before his own- so his cock sits softening between his thighs, itchy and covered in quickly drying spunk.

The intruder meets Harry’s eyes. Harry tries to place his face, but his mind is slow, groggy with sex.  Harry doesn’t think that he’s part of the crew, and he probably hasn’t signed any sort of NDA.

Louis’ teeth sink into Harry’s neck as he grunts through his own orgasm, unaware of the other person in the room.

The man’s hand is digging in his pocket- probably for his mobile- and Harry cannotmove. He needs to catch Louis’ attention, to do something stop the guy. His throat feels thick and dry and the words he’s looking for do not come.

Luckily, Louis stiffens and turns his head to follow Harry’s gaze, perhaps unconsciously sensing Harry’s distress. Lately, he’s been very attuned to Harry’s emotions.

Finally seeing the man, Louis shouts, “Oh fuck off!”

His voice is rough and despite the horror of being caught out, it zips down Harry’s spine. Harry feels his arse twitch around Louis’ softening cock.

Before they are able to even pull apart, someone else has appeared behind the guy, grabbing the device out of his hands. It’s one of the band’s handlers and though Harry’s far from pleased by yet anotherperson seeing him in this state, he’s relieved that they won’t need to call anyone and explain _._  

~

Even though management is able to keep the story hushed, Harry discovers there are a lot of downsides to getting caught with Louis in public.

The lectures, for one. They’re sat down separately and scolded like children for their supposed ‘lack of professionalism.’ It’s not the first time they’ve heard it, but it’s the ugliest. Apparently, if they don’t get their shit together, everyone who has invested in them so far is going to be screwed. And, okay, obviously they shouldn’t be fucking in public, not on the job, not while the other boys are waiting for them in studio to begin working on another take. But, Harry reasons to himself, it’s not like they werehurtinganyone. Still, he doesn’t dare talk back aloud.

Then, there are the _questions_. Everyone on staff, the boys, their families, they all want to know if Louis and Harry have decided to bond, after all. Apparently, this is the type of risk people expect of bondmates in hormone-addled love _,_ not bandmates merely helping each other out.

Of course they haven’t bonded _,_ and Harry’s getting tired of explaining it over and over again.

Worst of all, from management’s perspective, this reinforces the need for Louis’ ‘relationship’ with the girl omega to be more public. Someone in a suit explains in placating tones that they’ll have to set Louis and _her_ up on a series of romantic and heavily publicized dates, and Harry’s stomach churns. Every time Louis has come home smelling like her, Harry has felt like locking himself in his room and sobbing. Or like finding _her_ and doing something incredibly sinister like pulling her hair or scratching her.

The team begins to press Harry, too, about finding an omega to fake date. He’s able to put them off, mostly because he’s struck up something of a friendship with Nick Grimshaw. And while rumor has it that the omega radio host will sleep with anyone who’s got a dick, alpha or beta (and even other omegas, according to some tabs), it seems enough for them, for now.

Harry tries to get ahold of his mother the afternoon they’re caught, but she’s working late into the evening. He’s a little relieved to hear her voicemail, frankly, and the message he leaves her does not quite belie the acuteness of the situation at hand.

He and Louis are watching television and sipping tea the following morning when Harry’s mother finally rings him back. He knows it’s his mother as he has a special ringtone just for her, and he doesn’t really want to answer. She’ll be so disappointed in him.

She’s made it clearover the past month or so, since his last heat when Louis had helped him out, that she thinks he should ‘reconsider Louis’ offer to bond.’ He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that Louis hasn’t actuallymade any such offer and, if he did, Harry would want to turn it down anyway.  

But Louis tickles the bottoms of Harry’s feet and pushes them, kicking and flailing, off his lap. He raises his eyebrows when Harry still doesn’t move toward the ringing mobile. Then, his hand snakes out and Harry’s not quick enough to stop him from grabbing it up and flicking his thumb across the screen to answer it himself.

“Hello, Anne,” he says warmly. “Yes, he’s right here.”

Harry crosses his arms and glares at Louis’ now outstretched arm. Louis shakes his head and then reaches out to dig a finger into Harry’s side. Harry giggles, loud enough that he’s certain his mum’ll have heard.

Defeated, he squirms out of Louis’ reach and takes the call.

“Hullo.”

“Harry,” his mum’s voice is already soft and he knowsthat tone. It confirms that, yes, they’re going to talk about her opinions on his personal life.

He presses a kiss to the top of Louis’ head before wandering up toward his bedroom.

His mother spends a great deal of time on pleasantries. She asks about each of the other boys, one by one, saving Louis for last.

“He’s not so great, not after yesterday, neither am I,” Harry tells her, deciding to cut to the chase.

This, apparently, is not quite a good enough cut because she replies, “You haven’t changed your mind, then.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Harry lies back on his bed. “We haven’t really decided on much about the actual album.” Media training has been good for this, learning how to avoid his mum’s difficult lines of inquiry.

“Harry,” his mum replies. Perhaps that was a little too obviously off topic.

“Mum, nothing’s changed,” Harry assures her, clenching his fists in the sheets. He and Louis are barely ever in here, spending most (all) nights in Louis’ bed, but Harry’s pillow still smells a little like Louis’ scent and, more faintly, his shampoo.

Harry smiles to himself.

“Well, apparently, something has changed, if you’re… making love… at work.” She sounds frustrated and maybe a little worried. Harry doesn’t like it. He wants her to know that everything is just fine.

“Mum, it’s alright. Like, we have an arrangement. He just, like, _helps_ me, you know. Because it’s better with someone else and I trust him.”

“You’ve said. But you can’t actually want an arrangement that involves him having another omega, one everyone gets to see.” She makes it sound like Louis is cheating on him or something. He hasn’t spoken with her about Eleanor before. Harry’d been sort of hoping he’d never have to talk about Eleanor with anyone.

“Ours is a secret arrangement.”

His mum doesn’t answer and he sits up suddenly, feeling the need to clarify, “And he’s not actually, like, with _her_. Just me.”

His mother hums. Finally, she says, “I don’t want you to get hurt, Harry.”

Harry thinks about the discomfort he feels whenever Louis is out with Eleanor. Then, he thinks about Louis waking him up morning after morning with his mouth on Harry’s cock. It seems like a worthwhile tradeoff, for now. Harry doesn’t say this to his mum. He’s not sure how to tell her how much he enjoys sex with Louis without actually talking about sex with Louis.

He regrets his silence because she continues, “It’s hard for unbonded omegas, darling.”

It’s about the thousandth time she’s said as much to him, but she’s right and by now, Harry’s certain he knows _much_ more about this particular reality than she does.

“I’m going to be fine,” he tells her. He hopes he sounds more confident than he feels.  

~

A couple of days later, Harry wants to tag along with Louis to the studio. Louis has to leave early, well before dawn, and Harry follows him out of bed to make them both breakfast. They’re scrolling through the band’s twitter feed and sipping tea when Louis’ phone vibrates with the message that his ride is waiting out front.

He hops up out of his seat and bounds over to the front mirror to arrange his hair. Harry follows more slowly. “I don’t mind waiting for you there. I haven’t got anything else to do today.”

This isn’t strictly true. He’s supposed to be practicing for his guitar lesson and there’s a stack of paperwork on his desk that his lawyer has suggested he read through before signing.

Louis frowns at his reflection. Harry thinks he looks handsome, and says so.

Louis shrugs and shakes his head.  “I’ve got to go out with Eleanor right afterward and you can’t come. Why don’t you stay here, relax for once.”

Harry knows about Louis’ date, of course. He remembers (can’t forget) when the appointment showed up on Louis’ calendar two days ago blocking off the entirety of his only free afternoon all week.

Louis had called and cussed out some poor assistant at management’s offices and then thrown his new iPhone across the room. So Harry also knows how reluctant Louis feels about it, but he’s not actingthat reluctant now.

And something about his current complacency irritates Harry, so he says, “I guess I do have something I could do today instead. Like, Nick invited me in to the studio see how everything works, and stuff.” It’s his trump card. Louis doesn’t like Nick and he _really_ doesn’t like Harry going out without any of the other members of the band.

“Don’t do that,” Louis mutters. “That’ll be more boring than hanging out at the studio with me.”

“I don’t know,” Harry says, resting his chin on Louis’ shoulder and meeting his eyes in the mirror. “It’s probably good for me to hang out with other omegas. Keep up appearances.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Nobody doubts that you’re an alpha, Haz.”

Harry digs his chin in harder. “Rumors about me and an omega- instead of me and you, I mean- can’t hurt, though.”

Louis shrugs Harry off of him. “Whatever. You can do what you want.”

Harry can _,_ is the thing. And so he does _._

~

Nick takes off his headphones and Harry follows suit. “Can’t stand this Pitbull track,” he explains.

Harry wiggles a bit in his seat. He thinks the current jam is nice, very danceable. “Good for the clubs, though,” he suggests.

Nick cackles. Harry likes the way the lines around his eyes fan out when he smiles. It reminds him of Louis.

Still, he’s doesn’t like Nick’s tone. “Why are you laughing?”

Nick puts his hands on Harry’s shoulders. “I’m laughing because I am all but certain that you haven’t ever been to ‘the clubs.’ You’d have been eaten alive.”

Harry lifts his chin. Nick’s right and Harry’s not going to lie about it; Harry hasn’t been to a club. But he thinks he might like to go. “Alright. Let’s do it tonight, me and you.”

Nick smirks, but he looks kind of sad. “No.”

“I’ll go whether you come with or not.” Harry hopes he sounds more certain than he feels because he feels pretty childish.

Nick’s eyebrows droop and so does the corner of his mouth. Harry thinks he looks quite tortured. “Really, with your heat coming on, that’s a terrible idea.”

Harry stiffens. “What the fuck?”

“Come on, Harry,” Nick mutters. He’s watching the clock tick down to his next link. They’ve got twenty-six seconds. “You know I’m right.”

Harry runs a hand through his hair. He has no idea how Nick’s figured it out. He’s not supposed to know Harry’s gender. No one outside of the band and their team is supposed to know. Harry and Louis aren’t even supposed to tell their friends from before. (This is a point of great distress for them, and for Louis especially.)

Nick puts his headphones back on and chats brightly about the weather. His eyes don’t leave Harry’s face, though, and Harry feels like he’s about to cry.

When he finallyputs on the next set, Nick says, “Harry, it’s fine. I’m not going to tell anyone.”

Harry pouts at him. “But how did you know? Am I that obvious? Everyone online thinks _Louis_ is the omega. Are you some sort of scent genius?”

He’s talking a lot, sharing more than he usually would. Something about Nick’s amused expression makes him feel like he needs to explain each and every one of his thoughts. And, with Nick, he feels likethat might be okay, permissible. It’s weird, spending time with another omega.

“It’s easy to see how wet you get for him,” Nick replies.

Harry chokes on nothing. Then, he reaches around to touch the seat of his pants.

“Oh, stop that. I obviously can’t actually see anything,” Nick mutters. “You just remind me of me.”

Harry’s thinks that might be an insult, but he’s nervous about taking it that way. He wants Nick to be his friend. “Oh.”

Suddenly, Nick turns in his chair so that they’re facing each other. He leans in close to murmur, “But you know who I can’t figure out?”

Harry waggles his eyebrows, glad for the topic change. Also, he likes gossip. “Who?”

“Liam. What’s his deal? I don’t think he’s an omega, too bold. But I can’t scent him, not really. That boy is not the alpha he claims to be.”

“What?” Harry says, dumbfounded. Liam does smellstrange, always wearing a tad too much cologne; Harry’s noticed thatmuch. But he hasn’t really tried to figure out why. He hasn’t really wanted to, too caught up in his own secrets to care.

“He’s a beta, isn’t he?” Nick’s eyebrows lift as he says it.

Harry opens his mouth, but he’s not sure how to respond. Is Liam a beta?

While Harry considers this, Nick puts on his headphones and begins his next link.

~

They go out for a late lunch after Nick’s shift and Nick picks up his earlier and totally inappropriate line of questioning almost immediately. “So, you and Louis, then?”

“What do you mean, me and Louis?” Harry takes a bite of his sandwich.  

“You guys are bonding?”  Nick’s not even pretending to be interested in his own meal.

Mouth full, Harry replies, “No.”

“Soon, then? You reek of _tied._ And that mark he’s given you, very subtle.”

Harry reaches up to touch his neck and glares at Nick. “I don’t want to bond. I’m not thatkind of omega, you know?”

Nick tilts his head and smirks. “You want to be in charge? You’d rather be the one knotting Louis, I suppose?”

“No... what?” He hasn’t really thought about it before and the images that pop up into his head make him shift uncomfortably. He’s more than a little intrigued and he tucks the idea away. Still, to Nick, he says, more firmly. “No.”

Nick eats a couple of chips, not saying anything, just watching Harry. Then, he licks his fingers, one by one, and murmurs, “Are you sure?”

Harry wonders if he’s, like, _flirting_ or something. “Oh my god, Nick,” Harry says. “We’re both omegas. Like, don’t.”

Nick sits back. “It’s not unheard of, Harry. Some people have different tastes. I thought you just said you were one of them.”

Harry shakes his head. “It’s not, like, the _sex_. I like that bit.”  

Nick frowns. “Is he rough with you? Or cruel? Seems like he could be a bit controlling, if you know what I mean.”

Harry looks at his half-eaten sandwich. Nick’s wrong, of course. Louis’ wonderful, most of the time, but Harry doesn’t say that.

He picks up a chip and rolls it between his fingers. He’s not very hungry anymore, but he needs to eat. He’s realizing Nick was right earlier, when they were talking about the club. His heat is coming on quickly and he’ll need his strength.  

“If he’s hurting you…” Nick begins again, sounding genuinely distressed.

“Stop, Nick. Like, whatever’s between me and Louis is none of your business.” He doesn’t meet Nick’s eyes as he says it and he’s a little disappointed when Nick doesn’t press further. Harry might like someone to talk to about this, someone who could really _get it._

~

Louis steps inside the door and before he even toes off his shoes, he sniffs the air. Harry watches as he follows up the gesture with exaggerated retching noises. “You stink of Grimshaw.”

Harry laughs, though he feels a little badly about it. “That’s not how it works. I can’tsmell like another omega.”

Louis lifts a brow. “You cansmell like another omega’s _cologne._ ”

Harry pouts. “ _You_ smell like another omega’s cologne.”

Louis closes his eyes and presses his fingers to his temples. Harry assumes his ‘date’ must’ve gone poorly and he _crows_ inside.

Louis opens his eyes again, suddenly and wide, and walks toward the couch where Harry’s cuddled up under a blanket. As he comes close, his nostrils flare, this time involuntarily.  

Harry shivers and bites his lip. He was wondering when Louis would smell it. To be honest, he’s surprised it took this long.

Louis perches carefully beside Harry. His hip presses up against Harry’s legs through the blanket, but that’s their only point of contact. It burns and Harry aches for more.

“Your heat’s coming on,” Louis says unnecessarily.

Harry nods and reaches out to hold Louis’ hand. “Are you going to help me again?”

Louis tilts his head. “Have you made all the calls?”

Harry, of course, has not made _all_ the calls. He hates that he’s supposed to let so many people know, but he has told Cal and his mum. That seems like enough, so he nods.

Louis leans forward and presses a kiss to Harry’s forehead. “You’re already burning up. What are you doing underneath all these blankets, love?”

Louis picks up the heavy wool covering Harry’s legs and tosses it to the floor. The loss of pressure makes Harry feel vulnerable and he itches to grab it back, or, even more tempting, to pull Louis down in its place.

When Harry doesn’t answer, Louis lays a hand over his thigh. “Babe?”

Harry takes a shaky breath. “I want you to, like, stick it in me tonight.” He’s thought about this a lot. Louis’ all but knotted him exactly seven times in the last few weeks and every time is better than the last.

Harry can’t imagine having Louis beside him while his arse aches with emptiness and _not_ asking him to fill it, not now that he knows what that feels like.

He knows it’s dangerous.

Well, not _dangerous_. Rather, it puts them at serious risk of bonding. But Harry trusts Louis, now. He trusts him to take care of Harry, not to lose control or overstep.

Louis shakes his head and removes his hand from Harry’s leg. “I can’t-”

Harry turns his head, baring his neck so that Louis can see the semi-permanent mark he’s left on Harry’s skin, and, _fuck_ , he knows it’s a little manipulative, but he _really_ wants this.

“Harry,” Louis voice is high, reedy and thin. He sounds like he might be about to cry. “I don’t know if I can do that without really knottingyou.”

Harry meets Louis’ eyes. “You can.” The thing is, Harry feels confident that Louis can. Really, Harry feels confident that Louis will do exactlywhat Harry wants.

Louis leans over and kisses Harry softly. When they break apart, he doesn’t sit up all the way and Harry relishes the weight of his chest pressing down onto Harry’s own. Against Harry’s lips, Louis says, “I can try.”

Harry’s arms come up and wrap around Louis, pulling them tighter together. He can feel the length of Louis’ erection, thick and hot, already hard against his thigh.

Harry touches their foreheads together. Their noses bump and they’re far too close to actually be able to look into one another’s eyes properly. Harry murmurs, “I want you, Louis, and I trust you.”

Louis tenses against him and then he nods, rubbing their faces together. Gingerly, he sits up. He’s shoulders are square and he’s holding himself very, very carefully.

“Are you sure your suppressants are working? I don’t want you to get pregnant.”

Harry bites his lip. This is something he has no interest in screwing up. Harry has no interest in children either, not yet, at least, not before he’s bonded, not while he still has so much he wants to achieve.

“Absolutely certain. I don’t want to be pregnant a hell of a lot more than you don’t want me to be pregnant.”

Louis’ mouth twists and Harry thinks he might object. Louis rubs his hands down the front of his pants, before replying, “Okay, I’ll do it. But I, um, I need to-” He looks at Harry, eyes lingering on Harry’s lips.

Harry’s almost certain he’s going to lean forward for another kiss, but he doesn’t. He climbs off Harry and says, “Wait for me in my room.”

When Harry gets to Louis’ room, he strips naked and sits on the mattress. His arse is pulsing now, doubly excited by both his heat and the idea of being penetrated by Louis.

The seconds tick by slowly and Louis does not appear. Harry can hear him in the bath, the toilet flushing and the water running.

He wonders if there’s something else he should be doing. Opening himself up seems unnecessary when he knows Louis can do it better.  

Before bonding couples often clean up, maybe even wear something special. Harry’s heard they’ll set up candles and share a bottle of champagne. They always have presents for one another like a collar and chain or, in progressive couplings, a pair of rings.

He and Louis are _not_ bonding, Harry reminds himself, but he does feel like this might be a special moment for them, and perhaps he should do _something_ to commemorate it. He should let Louis knows how much Harry appreciates him, how important he’s become to Harry.

Harry picks at the sheet and shifts uncomfortably. HIs mind is beginning to turn hazy. He _needs_ Louis to _hurry._

When Louis enters the bedroom, he’s wearing one of Harry’s t-shirts and tired smile. The hem of the shirt doesn’t quite cover his erection and Harry’s eyes are caught on the thick knot already building at the base. He meets Louis’ eyes. Louis looks incredibly nervous, more tense than ever, and Harry faintly regrets asking this of him.

Mostly, thought, he wants that knot inside him.

“Lou,” he says. “We don’t have to-”

“I just can’t knot you fully. Or, like, do the _ritual._ ”

Harry nods. He can’t bring himself to protest even though they both know that lots of couples bond accidentally. Everyone knows.

Right now, that seems unlikely and, just maybe, worth the risk.  The more pressing issue is that Harry wants _Louis_ over and around him and _Louis’ cock_ up and inside him. _Now._

“We can’t say the words and I absolutely _can not_ mark you.” Louis eyes are huge, roving over Harry’s body. He smells so _ready._

Harry’s hand flies up the semi-permanent mark Louis’ already made on his neck. Louis gaze traces the motion and, anticipating Harry’s query, he says, “You have to make it _during_ the mating. That doesn’t count.”

Harry tilts his head. “How can you be sure?”

He doesn’t want to ask, he wants to pull Louis down beside him and climb into Louis’ lap. But he knows this conversation is important and some small part of his conscience is still looking out for him, for them.

Louis lifts his phone. He was carrying it with him; Harry hadn’t realized. “I just looked it up, to be sure.”

Harry tries to smile, shifting in an attempt to relieve the needy throb that’s set the muscles inside him trembling.

“Thank you.”

Harry has to bite out the words- he _needs_ Louis _now-_ but Louis doesn’t seem to notice or care because he nods and does not come toward Harry. “It’s not going to be easy. I always- I can barely help sinking my teeth into you when you’re not in heat.”  

Harry can’t wait any longer. He trusts Louis and they’re both _ready_. He reaches up, wraps his fingers around Louis wrist, and tugs.

“Kiss me,” he demands, leaning in close enough that their breath mingles, but their lips don’t quite touch.

Louis doesn’t close the space between them, not right away. Instead, he says, “Bossy, bossy.” He sounds pleased and pride swells inside Harry buoying him forward, finally, into the kiss.

Louis tastes even better than he smells. Always, he always does. Harry should expect it, but somehow, especially now, with his head clouded, aching for as much of Louis as he can get, it’s surprising how very, very delicious Louis’ spiciness is.

It’s not just Louis’ taste either; the feel of his lips against Harry’s is fucking fantastic, soft and wet and firm.

Harry’s hungry for him, for more. He can hear his own needy whines matched by Louis’ soft coos.

Louis runs a hand up and down his back, sliding his fingers up into Harry’s hair and tangling in his curls. When they part, Louis keeps his face close enough that the tips of their noses are still touching.

Harry’s breathing hard and he’s sliding his hands up and down Louis’ thighs in a way that’s he’s sure is more desperate than sexy. He thinks that he’s not the only one feeling desperate, though, because the thumping of his heart is loud, too loud, so loud that he’s sure it’s the sound of two hearts not one.

Louis opens his mouth, and Harry can see the words on the tip of his tongue. Harry’s heart skips with anticipation. He needs to know what Louis’ thinking, what he wants, whether Harry’s pleasing him.

“Louis,” Harry moans, prompting him.

“Haz.” Louis’ grip tightens in his hair and Harry’s scalp tingles. Harry closes his eyes, reveling in the sensation, a pleasant distraction from the now constant pulse of empty pain deep inside him. “I- you’re- you smell- I… just…“

Louis stops. His voice is small and his tone is halting. Their eyes meet. Louis’ are glassy, so full of emotion that they appear almost pained.

Harry shakes his head. He knows what Louis wants to say. He wants to say it, too.

The words- _bonding_ words- hang between them, waiting to be spoken.

Harry scoots forward into Louis’ lap and presses his face into Louis’ neck. It smells good, better even than the taste of Louis’ kisses and Harry’s overwhelmed by the urge to sink his teeth into the soft skin. He imagines leaving a small lasting bruise there, to match the one on his own neck.

He’s never heard of that before, omegas marking their alphas, but the idea is incredibly appealing.

He doesn’t bite, though- doesn’t have the energy to test, not today, not with his arse aching and Louis _right here_.  He does mouth wet open kisses against Louis’ throat, sliding out his tongue for the occasional firm lick.

One of Louis’ hands has made it’s way to the small of Harry’s back and is pulling them tighter and tighter together.

Harry grinds down on Louis’ thick, bare thigh, leaving behind a wet patch. It’s so much better- Louis’ muscular leg- so much better than the bed or Harry’s own fumbling wrist, but it’s not nearly enough- especially when his cock is right there- fully hard and leaking, waiting to slide up into Harry and fill him.

Louis’ hand moves down from Harry’s back, cupping his arse and then landing so that the tips of his fingers are covering Harry’s hole.

Louis pushes one gently inside and Harry lets out an embarrassingly little mewl.

Against Harry’s cheek, Louis murmurs, “Alright, love?”

Harry nods into Louis’ neck and then pulls back, the motion angling him harder onto Louis’ eager finger.

A small smile plays at Louis’ lips. He looks like he could do this forever, hold Harry against him and tease and tease and tease and Harry can’t help it- he needs _more_. “Fuck me. Louis, you have to fuck me.”

Louis freezes at his words. Something in Harry’s tone must alert him to the fact that Harry is _not_ fooling around. And that’s true, he’s not. This is _serious;_ convincing Louis to do it, to slide inside him, that feels like a matter of life or death, right now.

He needs _-_ not hopes, not wishes, not wants, but _needs-_ Louis inside him. And not in a bit, not when he’s properly prepared, not after Louis’ done teasing him, but _right now_.

He turns to kiss Louis again, on the mouth this time, hard and anguished, with teeth, his fingernails digging into the flesh at Louis’ hips. Images of the last time they’d done this come back to him in flashes. Louis’d taken such good care of him, but he’d also taken too god damned long.

This time should be different. This time, Harry trusts Louis. They’ve done this. In and out of heat. Louis has always given Harry exactly what he’s needed. And this time, he doesn’t need the careful touches or the hesitant affection.  This time, he needs surety and force. This time, he needs to be _fucked._

Louis must be able to read the urgency in Harry’s body, or maybe his scent, because when he pulls out his fingers and wipes them on the bed. He doesn’t waste any time. He moves Harry down onto his back on the mattress, spreads his legs and then his cheeks, hovering close and really looking for only a moment before lining himself up.

When Louis – _finally_ \- slips inside, Harry cries out. It’s a strangled noise and Louis answers with a gasp and soft coo.

“So good,” he murmurs, voice slow and catching. “So wet.”

Harry’s eyes, which must have fluttered shut at some point against his will, fly open catching Louis’ which look huge and dark, drinking in Harry’s face.

It _is_ good. It’s better than good. It’s like first sip of cool glass of water on a hot day or the first rays of sunshine peeking over the horizon at dawn, a delicious taste of what’s to come.

Except that Louis doesn’t continue. He stops, still and frowning, just there, only part of the way inside.

Harry whines. He wants to tell Louis what to do, what he needs, but he can’t find the words, he can barely hear himself think over the frantic beating of his heart. And he certainly isn’t able to form a sentence, not aloud, not when he’s so hot and so fucking _empty. Still,_ even with Louis in him.

Usually, that’s okay- Harry’s inability to speak, to communicate effectively during his heat. So far, Louis has always known exactly what Harry wants and has been able to give it to him.

But now Harry needs _moremoremore_ and Louis has stopped halfway. Louis’ brows are tight together and his mouth is mostly open. Harry’s all but certain he needs exactly the same thing as Harry.

“Please,” Harry begs. “Just do it.”

Louis grimaces and then thrusts. It’s too tentative, too gentle, doesn’t bring them nearly close enough together.

With a huff, Harry hoists himself on one elbow and reaches out to grab and pull at Louis’ hip. The movement guides them together and that’s when Harry feels it, _Louis’ knot_ , right _there_ , poised to enter him.

“Harry,” Louis chokes out. “We need to be careful. We can’t-“

Harry nods, a little too vigorously, jostling Louis painfully, fantastically where he rests inside Harry.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. Because Louis’ right, of course. He’s doing what Harry asked, making sure that they don’t bond. But, _fuck_ if Harry doesn’t care at all right now. Accidentally bonding seems better than this awful emptiness. “Can you just, like, a little, and, like, _harder_ …?”

Louis leans down kisses Harry’s brow. “Love,” he murmurs. And then, pained, he adds, “I’m going to pull out and use the bigger toy, so you can have some relief.”

“No,” Harry protests, finding Louis’ mouth and smashing their lips together. Any bit of Louis is better than a toy, no matter how big. It really, really is. If Louis could just, “Stay, but, like, move,” he whispers.

Louis shakes his head and Harry’s grip on his hip tightens. He can’t let Louis stop.

Louis lifts a questioning brow and Harry wills him to understand and then, when he still doesn’t move, Harry does his best to cant his own hips rhythmically, in sharp little hitches.

That does the trick because Louis begins to meet him thrust for thrust. He’s too careful, far too worried about his fucking knot for Harry’s liking.

Still, it’s the best heat-sex Harry’s ever experienced. The pleasure of it is hot and thick and all-encompassing in a way that nothing else is or could ever be. And Louis is here, with him, inside him.

And that, the firm, tight skin pressing up against Harry with each and every thrust, that’s his knot almost, _almost_ , where it’s supposed to be. Not unlike Louis’ mouth which is pressed several painful inches above the bruise on Harry’s neck and Louis’ not quite perfect words, a warm affectionate babble that stops just short of the love words that Harry’s aching to hear.

But the possibility- the almost- the forbiddenness, that’s enough for Harry, apparently. Within minutes he’s coming untouched, shooting off between them.

Louis lifts himself high, to watch, the movement jostling him so that he’s mostly out of Harry. He pulls all the way out once Harry’s finished and thrusts, hard and quick, with the kind of vigor that Harry’d been craving, between Harry’s slick thighs.

Even though it’s too hard and not quite right, not _inside_ , the burn of it is satisfying for Harry, for both of them. It doesn’t take long before Louis’ letting out a shout which he cuts off quickly, latching on instead to Harry’s neck.

The sting of it is dizzying, setting his head spinning and his limbs buzzing. Harry wants to relax into and drift off, but he can still feel Louis pulsing against him, so with almost painful effort he tightens his thighs around Louis’ dick and knot while Louis rides out his orgasm.

After a moment, Louis relaxes and his breath hisses out against Harry’s neck. He stiffens and his eyelashes flutter against Harry’s cheek. “Oh, shit,” he whispers.

Harry watches him sit up, his gaze fastened on Harry’s neck. Louis’ eyes are wide and Harry wonders if he’s bleeding or something; Louis had bitten him hard, harder than he’d intended, harder than he should’ve, certainly.

Harry thinks about walking to the bathroom and looking in the mirror.  He wants to see the mark for himself. But he shifts, and an angry ache reverberates through him, his sore muscles screaming to be left alone.

“Did you mark me?” he says, trying to dig up the energy to be upset, to really process the situation.

Louis swallows and shakes his head. “No. Maybe. I don’t know.” His voice is high-pitched, panicky, and his eyes are welling up with tears.

The need to comfort him overwhelms Harry and he pulls Louis back down to cover him. The motion presses Louis’ lips to his neck and Harry feels wet, the wet of Louis’ mouth and Louis’ tears, and the wet of his own aching arse.

“I’m sorry,” Louis murmurs against Harry’s skin; it tingles. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. And, like, I definitely didn’t knot you.

Harry swallows. His body feels so heavy. He lets his eyelids fall shut.

Louis pulls Harry tighter against him, whispering, “It’ll be okay.” And then, softer, “I love you.”

Harry’s heart skips and then settles. For the moment, he’s too tired to make sense of any of it.

~

Harry wakes to Louis’ kisses. His mouth is on Harry’s throat, but it’s moving lower and lower, down his chest, across each nipple, onto his stomach. Louis stops right below his belly button and meets Harry’s eyes.

His smile is lazy and Harry finds himself grinning in return. He feels his arse pulse and makes a little frustrated noise. He’s so sore, so tired, but his heat, apparently, isn’t satisfied, not quite yet.

Louis chuckles and presses another kiss, slightly lower, into the top of his nest of hair. Then, he rests his chin where his mouth had been and says, “You’re made for this, love. You’ll be beautiful with our baby inside you.”

At that, Harry goes completely still. It’s not that he hasn’t thought about that before, what it would be like to be pregnant and to have children.

Well, actually, yeah, it’s exactly _that_. He _hasn’t_ thought about it, not really, not deeply and not with _Louis_.

He sits up on his elbows, heart now racing, as he begins to think about what they’ve done, how far they’ve taken this.

Louis doesn’t seem to notice his distress because he continues to speak. “I know female omegas are supposed to be better for the whole childbearing thing, that’s what everyone says, even my mother.” He presses a row of kisses from one hipbone to the other. “But you’re going to be the most perfect parent.”

“Louis,” Harry says. His voice is shaking and he clenches the sheets tightly.

Louis looks up at him and flicks the fringe out of his eyes. “Babe?”

 _Fuck,_ he’s so beautiful. Harry’s arse tenses and Harry has to close his eyes against the onslaught of _wantwantwant_ that threatens to overcome him.

Very carefully, he says, “Get out.”

Louis stills. “What?”

“We shouldn’t have done this,” Harry’s voice is so soft and he hates it. He wishes he sounded firmer, more certain of himself. “I don’t want to bond.”

His eyes sting and fill. Every fiber of his body is protesting this.

“We didn’t-” Louis begins. “I was _so_ careful.” His voice is a whine and Harry feels his despair pour out onto them both like a bucket of cold water.

Harry opens his eyes. Louis is watching him, mouth open, gaze pleading. “I know,” Harry admits. “But, like, I don’t want to be, like, _tied down,_ you know?”

Louis shakes his head. He’s sitting up and pulling away and for some reason, panic is welling up in Harry. “All I wanted was to take care of you, Harry. That’s all I wanted.”

Louis reaches down to the floor beside the bed and grabs his sweatpants.

“Well,” Harry says, slowly. “Maybe I don’t wantyou to take care of me. Maybe I don’t need anyone to take care of me.”

Louis’ standing now, sweats on. He shakes his head and bites his lips, eyebrows high. Then, resting his fists on the bed, he leans in close, eyes narrow, mouth a thin line, and mutters, “That’s not what you were saying four hours ago, babe. You were _begging_ for my knot, don’t fucking kid yourself.”

Harry doesn’t see him go. His vision is blurry with tears.

He lies back on the pillow and closes his eyes. He wants to curl up and sleep through the remainder of his heat, but his bedclothes smell like Louis and sex. After a few minutes, he sits up. He needs leave, to move out permanently and straight away.   

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> say hello on [tumblr](http://juliusschmidt.tumblr.com).


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